Shadowed Brandy
by Sabriel41
Summary: Even though time had made her a beautiful woman, few people ever looked at his Ginerva. Perhaps because she was overshadowed by those around her, but he liked to think they didn't look too closely because he had marked her as his. [GinnyTom]


**Shadowed Brandy**

_. o ._

He had haunted her dreams for six years now. Even on the nights where she tossed and turned, staring at nothing - staring at everything - to keep her body from falling asleep, and keep her mind from allowing the memories to resurface, sleep eventually claimed her. As he did, as in dreams he would come to her; a wraith in form, but always handsome, always self-possessed... everything she wanted to be, everything she wanted.

He knew it, too, and taunted her for it; sometimes staying only long enough to sweep his fingers across her cheek as she slept. Although she would only turn over in response, sighing softly as long crimson hair shifted over her shoulders, she still knew he had been there. He was the only person she knew with long, artist's fingers. And so he was an artist in his own way; but the world was his canvas, and he painted with deception, fury... violence. She lived in one of his paintings, and in moments where he was less guarded, he admitted she was one of his finest creations.

She was a fractured soul, for while her hair reflected a fiery temper and a steadfast heart, her soul was darkened; an 'old soul,' he had called her once. Her eyes reflected this; she had come to this place unmarked, but before the first year had passed, shadows danced in her eyes. Not always, and never when anyone was looking. But even though time had made her a beautiful woman, and she always was brilliant, few people ever really _looked_ at his Ginerva. Perhaps this was because she was overshadowed by her boisterous family, but he liked to think they did not look too closely because he had marked her as his.

Not in the same way that he marked those who were willingly faithful; her delicate skin that freckled wildly in summer would never be marked in the same way that he claimed his minions. She, loath as he was to admit it, was beyond the rank of minion to what remained of his heart. Somehow, she had become Regent, and her shadowed eyes seemed to speak this truth more forcefully than any artificial mark ever could.

Which is why he came to her this time, to tell her to escape.

"Ginerva..." he whispered, sweeping her hair off of one cheek, almost in a caress. Stepping back, his voice took a harsher tone. "Wake up."

And she did, using one hand to rub the sleep from her eyes while she raised her upper body against the pillows. Her eyes met his, and the immediate expression of fear was quickly quenched with a calculating expression as her eyes lowered.

"Tom."

He nodded brusquely, cringing at the casual address. "Really, Ginerva, one would think you would know how to address me properly by now."

She smiled, but it did not reach her hooded eyes. "You're here, aren't you? It can't annoy you that much..."

He cut her off with a sharp sigh. "That is quite enough. Merlin, woman, you try the patience of the saints. Besides, I am 'Tom' to you after all. So casual, so trusted. Your confidant?" Pausing, he took a step towards her bed, his expression predatory. "Your friend?" Another step. "Perhaps your lover?"

At this, her eyes snapped up to meet his. "That's - that's _impossible_. You know that. Besides, what makes you think I would ever want you to?"

But her voice trembled as she answered, and he noticed, raising one eyebrow in silent mockery. "Really?"

"Really, Tom." Propping her back against the headboard, she crossed her arms across her chest. "You're a dream. A figment, if a damned persuasive one, and I don't want you to touch me." Tossing her hair over her shoulders, she glared, and he returned her glare spark for spark, leaning against one of her bedposts as if he owned it.

He seemed almost real in that moment, she thought. Oh, he already looked far more human than the ghosts that haunted the place; clad in his Head Boy uniform which she thought he wore to intimidate her. It had worked when she was younger, but no longer. Dark hair fell into his eyes as he looked at her; she'd noticed that he seemed to be growing it out in her recent dreams, and she wondered why.

She couldn't deny she was drawn to him; he had his own pull, and she had given him her soul freely, once. While he had twisted it to his own purposes, introducing the shadows to her eyes along with the need for secrecy and stealth, her own strength had saved her. He had not killed her; rather, she had found strength in the flames he had drawn her through. But two souls so entwined rarely can let each other go, and it showed in both. For where deep shadows swirled in the eyes that were once bright and guileless, bright fire now danced in those that once were flat and guiltless...

A hand underneath her chin, tilting it upwards, brought her out of her musings. He stood beside her now, eyes sardonic as ever, but with something unreadable in their depths. His expression turned superior. "Why then, little girl, do you shiver when I touch you?" Tracing the contour of her leg through the quilt, his eyes registered triumph as she shuddered.

Ginny drew in a breath as she answered. "You're cold... cold as the dead." Realizing what she had just said, she suppressed her fear and chuckled dryly. "It's fitting, don't you think?"

He laughed, to her surprise, but it was a joyless sound. "Perhaps. But I think at times you prefer me this way. Why else would you summon me; nearly every night, I might add. Lonely, little girl?"

"You're the powerful one," she replied, not liking what she saw in his eyes. "Tell me if I am. You're going to, anyways."

"I think you are. Weak, Ginerva, weak. You tremble, you look away, yet you cannot deny you are drawn to me."

She had had enough. Sweeping the blankets away, she stood up boldly, bare inches away from where he had jolted back, startled by her sudden movement. "So what if I am," she cursed lowly. "What do you want me to say? That I'm in love with Tom-_bloody_-Marvolo Riddle?" Seeing the shock in his eyes, she relished the moment. "And - and I'm _not_, so you can stop looking like that."

He was the first to speak. "How..." he paused, his expression hardening, "how droll. You won't be crushed, little girl, if I say the feeling isn't mutual?"

A flash of gold from her watch caught his eye just as the arm it was attached to flexed, presumably to punch him. He captured her fist effortlessly, his grip painful. "You are terribly maudlin tonight, Ginerva: professions of love, terrible language, attempted violence...tsk, tsk. Hardly suiting of a lady," he scolded, stepping away.

"I'm a lady to you, Tom? Since when?" Her tone matched his. "No... no, don't answer that." She looked down - bloody Merlin's glasses, exactly _when_ had his fingers entwined with hers? Holding back a curse, she loosened her fingers from his grasp and lowered her other hand. Taking his hand in both of hers, she returned it to his side. "Leave me be, Tom. You've had your laugh for tonight. Just... go."

She turned, intending to go back to bed. Perhaps another dream would claim her, but she doubted it. The best she could hope for was dreamless sleep. Oblivion. But it was not to be. He spun her around by the shoulders as she turned, his grip unyielding. "Surely, Ginerva," he purred, "you are not going to leave without hearing what I have to tell you? You might find it the least bit interesting."

Trying to draw herself out of his hold and failing, she sighed angrily. "It appears I have no choice."

At her words, he removed his hands from her shoulders, and realizing that she was not going to try to evade him again, he twisted the ring from the fourth finger on his left hand. Clasping it firmly in his right hand, he smiled at the oval gemstone, a flawless black opal, as it flickered in what little light there was in the room. "Hold up your hand, Virginia," he said, his tone a soft command.

"No."

"Why not, little girl? Afraid?"

"I'm not taking anything from you ever again, Tom. Besides, it wouldn't fit."Ginny's voice trailed off as she watched the ring shrink as it sat on his palm.

"_Take_ it, woman. I will not ask thrice."

She felt his will bending her, and although she fought it, her left hand brushed his as she removed the ring from his palm. Holding it at distance from her body, she frowned in thought. "Fine, then. Just what does this ring do, and why do you wish me to have it?"

"Surely you have heard that my mortal element is gathering his forces for an assault on Hogwarts?"

Ginny tensed. She had heard whispers of this possibility, but only whispers. His words rankled her, and he knew it, as he continued, his words oozing false sympathy.

"Surely they have let you into that foolish band of renegades? Or do the shadows in your eyes keep them away? Make them feel guilty?"

"Sod off." Oh, she hated him. Hated him for making her relive those dark days in her first year, sometimes every night for a week, if he felt inclined. Hated him for being who he was, for what he had done to those around her. But she hated him most because he simply would not _go away_.

"Language, Ginerva..." His expression turned dangerous, but her eyes still danced. Tom was relatively harmless when he looked dangerous; it was when he went silent that he _was_ dangerous.

Unfazed, she replied. "Sod off, you bloody bastard." She smirked. "Better?"

He was tempted to roll his eyes, and refrained only due to the juvenility of the action. "Hardly, but you miss the point, Ginerva. He will come tomorrow at twilight; his forces are impressive, and with those of his already within the castle, it does not look good for you, little girl." He paused, and closed her hand around the ring that rested on her palm. "The ring is a Portkey; I had it designed for you. Twist the gem twice clockwise, and it will take you wherever is safest."

She had no such compunctions about juvenility, he noted, as she rolled her eyes. Naturally, she did not trust him. Trust was an expensive commodity these days, paid most commonly with death. Commending her silently for bravery if not cunning, he answered the question that her eyes had formed.

"No, I do not know where the Portkey will take you. But the reputation of its maker is impeccable, and he is himself as honest as that befuddled Headmaster of yours. Of course, the fact that he did not know who he was making the ring for made things even simpler."

"I don't care _who_ made it, Tom," she interrupted.

He returned the favor, smoothly cutting into her reply. "Consider it an option, Ginerva. You will die if you stay; this is almost certain, and the Portkey will give you a way out."

"I see," she countered. "But what if I were to go to my 'befuddled Headmaster' and tell him of all this? Then I would have no need of your ring."

"He knows, little girl. He knows that Voldemort will march at twilight. Or do you think you are the only one whose reveries I visit?"

"Of course," she whispered. "The student that he lost - he was _you_.You're a complete_ bastard_, Thomas."

Uncharacteristically, he bowed to her. "In the flesh, Ginerva. Well, not actually, I'm afraid."

"Tom..." she replied slowly, turning the ring over in her hand. "...Why?"

Ignoring her question, he looked out the arched window beside her bed. "Morning draws. I must leave."

Something - she wasn't sure quite what, and she suspected that she would never know - flashed across his eyes as he stepped forward and reached for her, tracing one cheek as he did to wake her earlier, the other hand sliding around her neck, drawing her closer. His kiss was unearthly, she decided. Passionate, perhaps, but cold... a cold that stole her breath. Unconsciously, the hand that was not holding his ring slipped around his back, holding him closer. He had never kissed her before, and she knew that he was never going to again. Perhaps that was why she poured whatever warmth she could summon into the embrace as they pulled the other closer. Perhaps that was why she nearly acquiesced to his request as the kiss ended.

"Remember the ring, Ginerva. Don't be daft. Run, little girl, if you must."

She couldn't deny that a part of her wanted to. The fact that he wanted her to run almost won her over. But the fire that danced in her heart won her over, and she mirrored his earlier gesture, tracing the side of his face: aristocratic cheekbones, slightly squared jaw, and then his lips, drawing two fingers over them to memorize the way they felt beneath her fingers. Smiling wistfully at the sharp breath that he drew in, she wondered exactly how human he had become.

It did not matter.

It was still not enough.

Standing on her tiptoes, she closed her eyes, and kissed him gently. Carefully, she whispered against his lips. "I will not run."

Something - regret? - was clear in his response, but he did not argue. "As you wish, Ginny."

Her eyes flew open. Not once in the six years that he had appeared to her had he ever called her thus. But this time, as she opened her eyes, she found herself alone. It was morning now, or near to it, and smiling sadly at the soft snores of her roommates, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.Ginny gasped sharply as she realized what the lack of that weight meant. _Tom._ Any thought, anysense of his specter in the back of her mind was gone. And gone with him were the shadows that he had placed in her eyes, replaced by the fires that she had given to him, and that he had returned, albeit in his own way.

Opening her hand, she was only half-surprised to see the gold band shining on her palm, the black opal resplendent in its simple setting. "Shadows and fire," she whispered, noting the flashes of color in the smoky gem. Placing it on her finger, she brushed her hair over her shoulders, and got out of bed. Padding over to the window that Tom had looked out of, she surveyed the grounds below her.

She would not run. She had told him that she would stay partly out of defiance. But this was her home: for all the nightmares and the darkness that had tortured her, it had also taught her to appreciate the lighter moments much more. The banter, the Balls, the stolen moments with friends between classes and exams and Quidditch games. This place was hers, and she would not abandon it in its hour of need.

So, the man who had stolen away the boy she loved and the girl that she once was was bringing his army to her doors. All this meant was that she would hold her ground; when he did march on her home, she was going to kill him.

_. o ._

_...finis..._

_. o ._

* * *

_Disclaimer:_ The realm and characters within HP belong to J.K. Rowling and associates; I merely borrow them from time to time. 

_Sabe's Scribbles_: If anyone ever told me I'd be writing a T/G (Gin & Tonic, as I believe it's called?) before today, I think I'd have said they were crazy. But here it is! Just proving that you can't fight with your muses too much.

Now, to the unknown reader. . . if you've liked what you've read, or would like to leave a constructive comment of some sort, the review button is just down and to your left. Thanks for reading, and Starry Nights!


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